


Mistletoe and Other Impossible Things

by Overwrought



Category: Uprooted - Naomi Novik
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 08:42:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22008220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overwrought/pseuds/Overwrought
Summary: In modern-day Kralia, Sarkan has brought his newest research assistant to the palace for the annual midwinter celebrations. What’s this? There’s only one room? With one bed?Because I figured, why not lean into those tropes?Gift for Ridiculosity!
Relationships: Agnieszka/The Dragon | Sarkan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50
Collections: Uprooted Holiday Fic Exchange 2019





	1. Christmas Eve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ridiculosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ridiculosity/gifts).



> So this is not finished and barely edited, but I’m working on it! I’m not sure why I made this an AU, except maybe to bypass the whole Wood and Queen conflict and just focus on snarky Sarkan and Solya quipping innuendos. Kasia’s here too, because why not? It’s fanfiction and I can will it so.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exposition and set-up.

Kralia was full of lights.

Of course we always tried to make things merry in our valley—wreaths and our candle tree and perhaps a string of lights here and there—but it was nothing to the flourishes that arched over every cross-street, the displays in the squares. They even had a Christmas Market with stalls in miniature log cabins, far grander than anything I had ever seen in Olshanka.

“Yes, yes, full of useless knick-knacks and overpriced drinks. Stop gaping. You look like a fish,” Sarkan Dragonski, or the Dragon, as most people in the valley called him, snapped.

I closed my mouth to placate him, but I couldn’t stop feasting with my eyes, pressing up against the window of the taxi. The Dragon was irritable at the best of times, and this trip would do nothing to improve his temper.

* * *

_1 month earlier _

“Sarkan, how are you?”

“How do you expect me to be? What are you calling for?”

“I just wanted to ensure that you had received the invitation.”

“An email would have sufficed.” I didn’t see why I needed a gold-embossed piece of confectionary informing me that Christmas would celebrated at the palace again this year.

“It is imperative that you RSVP as soon as possible. This year’s festivities are proving to be rather popular. Prince Marek has taken charge as the master of ceremonies.”

“Good to know. I’ll prepare myself for all pomp and no circumstance.”

“I’m calling to confirm whether you will be there.”

“Yes, of course I’ll be there.”

“Just one? You are entitled to a plus one, of course. Perhaps your research assistant?”

“Why would I bring my research assistant?” I snapped, hanging up. Especially the one I had this year. The thought of it—

“You’re not taking to transplantation well, are you? Is it the soil, or do you need more water?” Agnieszka asked a _plant_ , kneeling down in its bed and stroking its leaves.

“I don’t see how its soil could be wrong. We dug up soil from the clearing for those beds.”

“Yes,” she said absent-mindedly, _tasting_ the soil. “But we didn’t bring the sun, or the shade . . . mulch! There were birch leaves everywhere in that grove. They kept the moisture in, and the compost probably provided nutrients.”

“Fine. Go gather some birch leaves then.” Words I never thought I’d say to a research assistant.

She hummed as she put on her boots, slip-shod, to hurry out of the greenhouse. The girl always seemed happier out of doors. With her appearance, one would be surprised that she had been raised under a roof.

“I’ll be gone next month, to Kralia, for the royal holiday festivities.”

She tripped, mouth gaping open at me. “Oh? How long?”

“A week at most—the celebrations last until the new year—but if I’m lucky I can just put in an appearance on Christmas itself and be back in two days.”

“Well then what will I—can I go home?”

“You’ll stay here and maintain the plants!”

“And your experiments?”

“No! No. Don’t touch anything in the lab.” Agnieszka may be gifted with live plants, but she had an unparalleled gift for disaster with chemical procedures. It was a wonder she ever managed to cook anything edible.

“A week? By myself?”

“Somehow you’ll manage.”

She gulped and went out the door, immediately tripping down the stairs.

* * *

I wasn’t hurt terribly, except for a large bruise on my shin, but I could tell by the way the Dragon looked at me that he didn’t trust me alone in his tower. We set up water feeders for the plants and he paused any experiments that needed flame, with him muttering the whole time about wasting time for frivolities.

Though I was disappointed at not being able to go home for the holidays, I was excited to see Kralia. Besides which, Kasia would be there too. She had won some sort of sharpshooting competition, and would be staying at the palace as well.

The palace was even more elaborately decorated than the streets of Kralia had been. The hallways really were decked with holly, festooned with evergreen branches and twinkling lights. I’m afraid I gaped all the way to the room the chamberlain was showing us to.

Suddenly a tall, imposing man in an expensive-looking cashmere sweater was before us. “Dragonski.”

The dragon scowled. “To what do we owe the honor, your royal highness?”

Was this Prince Sigmund? Or Prince Marek?

All of the sudden, the prince’s hand was under my chin, turning my face this way and that for examination.

“They say all of your research assistants are famed for their beauty or their brilliance. I suppose this one is brilliant?”

“Not at all,” the Dragon snapped, swatting the prince’s hand away and marching into his chamber.

“What was—was he—do you think I’m pretty?”

“Of all the things—that’s what you’re concerned about?”

“So I’m merely not brilliant?” I asked, subdued. For a moment—well, I had never thought much of myself, not compared to Kasia, but—

“You are, incomprehensibly, quite brilliant. But he doesn’t need to know that!”

“Oh. Why not?”

“Prince Marek wants the crown. If he thinks you’re anyone, he’ll try to drag you into his hare-brained schemes. With your gift for disaster, you’d probably help get him elected too.”

There was a lot to think about, but I got distracted in admiring his room. It was high-ceilinged, with a roaring fireplace and colorful tapestries and—

“And where is _her_ room?”

The chamberlain was too well-trained to cower or even, beyond slightly raised eyebrows, show surprise. “Your response didn’t request two rooms.”

“Well of course we need two rooms!”

“Sir, I’m afraid that all rooms have been booked for weeks—“

“There’s only one bed!” I cut in.

“Well,” the chamberlain said, visibly struggling not to fidget, “I could see if there’s an extra cot.”

“Do that,” the Dragon snapped. As soon as he looked away, the chamberlain bolted from the room.

“I could sleep on the rug . . .” I started, examining it: colorful, and it seemed thick.

“Of course you would,” the Dragon snorted. He dragged the coffee table over to the settee and rearranged the cushions and the throw, transforming them into a bed.

“Well, we have a few hours before we have to dress for dinner.”

“Dress?”

“Surely you brought a change of clothes?”

“Well yes, but nothing . . . fancy. I didn’t think that I would be attending the festivities?”

“What is the purpose of bringing you all the way to Kralia if not to attend the festivities?”

“I thought I was here to assist you?”

“You never have before!”

As the Dragon ranted at me, I admitted that I thought I had simply been brought along to keep me away from his laboratory, and that I would be free to run about Kralia as I wished, look for Kasia—certainly not attend the ceremonies that the Dragon would be held hostage to. After all, I wasn’t a royal appointee.

“Go find Vanastalem and find something suitable,” he said, handing me a credit card.

“Vanastalem?”

“Are you capable of doing more than parroting what I say? It’s a clothing store. There are branches all over—probably one in the palace itself.”

* * *

“You look like a Christmas elf,” I told her bluntly when she showed up to dinner—late, of course, after the presentation of the guest of honor, the princess of Mondria.” No doubt she had gone to Vanastalem—only that store would waste so much red and green silk on a single dress. It was the fashion, I suppose, but Agnieszka was a particularly riotous example.

“I know. I look ridiculous. But all the dresses were like this! I thought I should at least wear something festive.”

I took a sip of my wine. At least it was a good vintage. “You can customize their dresses, you know.”

“On such short notice? But they won’t even give us an extra bed!”

“Yes, but the tailors are used to it. Clothes are more changeable than room arrangements.”

“Sarkan, aren’t you going to introduce us to your lovely assistant?” Solya cut in. “It’s an honor, my dear. You know Sarkan has never brought anyone to the Royal Midwinter Festivities before.”

I scowled at him. “Agnieszka this Solya Falconski, the Royal Psychologist.”

“Ah,” she gaped, predictably.

“And this is Alosha Swordsen, the Royal Physicist. Ballo Owlski, the Royal Archivist. Ragostok Splendidsen. Aspiryna Willowski, the Royal Physician.”

Agnieszka gaped at each of them in turn, nodding at them at least. Annoyingly none of the other royal appointees had brought anyone to dinner. This wasn’t surprising for Ballo, but Ragostok usually had some ornamental coquette, and even Alosha was known to sometimes bring a favored soldier.

“So Agnieszka, what is your specialty?” Solya said, oozing with oil.

“Um, plants, mostly.”

“Agriculture? Sarkan has done so much to increase the fertility of the valley.”

I took a deeper drink and turned to Alosha.

“What news regarding Mondria?”

“The princess has been a widow for a little over a year, which some might say is not an adequate mourning period, but she’s here.”

“Is she so eager to be queen of Polnya when there are two full-grown heirs to the throne?”

“She’s not young herself.”

“Young enough to produce an heir.”

“Even if that were to happen, Sigmund is still likely to be favored by the Magnati. He’s full-grown, and sensible, with two heirs of his own.

“Good traits for a king, but not likely to make him popular,” I said, indicating Solya.

“We’re aware. And what are you planning?”

“What do you mean?”

“The girl. First you say you’re coming alone, then with someone. Is she here to distract Solya? Because it’s working, strangely enough.

“That’s Agnieszka in a nutshell. She’s a disaster—no scientific method at all—but she obtains results, somehow.” 

“That serum you developed. Aspiryna said she’s never seen anything like it before.” 

“Yes, the girl distilled it, based off of old wives’ tales and a plant that’s usually deadly even in trace amounts.” 

“You allowed her to work with heart-tree? I’m surprised. You usually quite circumspect with your trainees.” 

“She’s impossible to train.” 

“But not impossible to work with?” 

“Nearly so.”

* * *

“So Agnieszka, what is your specialty?” Solya asked with a wide smile. 

“Um, plants, mostly.” 

“Agriculture? Sarkan has done so much to increase the fertility of the valley.” 

That was true. The Dragon had developed fertilizers and treatments for heart-tree blight, but it seemed like there was a second meaning there, albeit a nonsensical one. 

“More like, forestry? I suppose I study ecosystems.” 

“Ah, ecosystems! That’s more in line with what I do. People create social ecosystems you know. If one person is added, the whole system is affected.” 

“Yes, exactly!” I said, though again I had the uneasy feeling he meant something else as well. Solya was a slippery one. He had the second most Charovnikov Prizes of all the royal appointees—second only to the Dragon—though I knew Alosha was the longest-running appointee. The Dragon seemed dismissive of the plaques that he kept on a shelf in the library. Solya, I imagined, kept his on a more prominent display. 

“Do you know Kasia Welnaski?” 

“Oh yes! We’re from the same village! She’s here too, isn’t she?” 

“Yes, she’s Prince Marek’s especial guest. Would you like to greet them?” 

“Yes, please!” I exclaimed, though I didn’t particularly want to see Prince Marek again. He might be a war-hero, but he had that same doubled way of speaking as Solya. Were all courtiers like this? The Dragon was always painfully straightforward, but then again he disdained court and spent as little time as possible here. 

Solya led me to the prince, looking every inch a prince in his tuxedo, who was sitting next to a gorgeous woman with honeyed curls. 

“Kasia! You look lovely!” 

Kasia had always looked lovely, but now she looked like a princess out of a fairy tale, dressed in a frosty blue evening gown with jewels dangling from her ears. 

“Nieszka!” she exclaimed as she embraced me. She then turned and graciously introduced me to Prince Marek, Crown Prince Sigmund, his wife the Princess Agata of Gidna, and their children the Prince Stashek and Princess Marisha. 

I reminded myself to keep my mouth closed and did my best to curtsy without wobbling. 

“I like your dress,” Marisha piped up. 

I kneeled down next to her and said, “Thank you! I’m afraid I feel a bit silly in it. Your dress is very beautiful though! It reminds me of holly berries.” 

“Yours is like a candy cane!” 

“Yes, that’s exactly it! It looks like a candy cane!” 

At that point the Dragon came up to pay his respects to the princes, but also, I suspect, to retrieve me before I made a fool of myself. I managed to whisper to Kasia before he whisked me away though. 

“Where is your room? When are you free?” 

“My room is the rose room, on the second floor in the same hallway as Prince Marek’s. I think I should be free tomorrow after the presentation of the gifts—what about you? Where is your room?” 

“It’s in the east tower, called the fire room, I think. There was a mistake, and I’m rooming with the Dragon.” 

Kasia tried to mask it, but I knew her too well. A look of dismay flashed across her face before the Dragon escorted me away.


	2. Christmas Day

The next morning the king opened what seemed to me like a hundred presents, including one from the Dragon which contained vials of his new distillations, including the one I had helped with, of heart-tree sap, which oddly seemed to help rather than worsen green sickness. Then Crown Prince Sigmund had begun and I couldn’t help but groan.

“You needn’t stay for this. Only those trying to curry favor do, if they haven’t actually gotten him anything.”

“Did you get him something?”

“Yes, of course. And Marek too, though I doubt he’ll find a copy of Jadwiga’s ruminations on moderation appealing.”

“So you’re staying?”

“Of course.”

I reached down into my pocket. I was back in my own clothes this morning: my best dress—I wasn’t a total fool—though I still felt severely underdressed among all the couture clothing in my off-brand Vanalem wool dress.

“Have you had a change of heart?” the Dragon asked sarcastically, seeing my hesitation to flee.

“I’m not sure if we’ll have time later—and it seems more appropriate to give gifts on Christmas morning anyway.”

I handed him a package wrapped in brown paper tied with a single ribbon—already crooked, I noticed. He seemed surprised rather than affronted.

“ . . . I didn’t get you anything.”

“Oh, it’s just a token! Really, nothing much.”

I had agonized over that “nothing much,” but it really wasn’t much. I knew he loved books, but he seemed to have every rare or new book on botany, so I had made my own—just some of his own writing paper sewn together with a cloth cover. It was an herbarium of common valley plants, but I had included their common as well as scientific names and the local legends about them. Obviously mistletoe was usually poisonous, but could be used medicinally to cause vasoconstriction. Everyone knew about kissing under it, but in our village, it was hung over doorways as a sign of hospitality as well, signaling you were entering a place of peace, love, and understanding.

“It’s . . . useful. It will be good to know the different names for plants, and the superstitions surrounding them.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought.”

“Thank you, Agnieszka.”

“You’re welcome. Sarkan.” His name felt odd in my mouth—oddly intimate. But I was already on a first name basis with half of the other royal appointees. It felt silly to not call the man I had been living and working together with these past three months by his surname or an old nickname.

* * *

I found Kasia’s room easily enough, but she didn’t show up for quite some time. I remembered too late that she probably had to stay for Prince Marek’s presentations of gifts. It didn’t matter. I hadn’t wanted to stand awkwardly next to the Dragon—Sarkan—after I had given him my gift.

As soon as Kasia came in she flopped down next to me on the bed with a sigh.

I tossed a ball of paper to her. “Merry Christmas.”

A wrapped box dropped onto my face. “Merry Christmas yourself.”

Kasia had knitted me a pair of slippers—so thoughtful. She knew I hated wearing shoes, but I couldn’t very well go barefoot in winter. I had made her a collection of sachets.

“This one smells just like my mother’s apple pie! And this one smells like the woods in summer! Nieszka, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I thought you might want familiar scents with you, wherever you go.”

Kasia stilled. Then let out a huff of laughter. “You know I thought I would be chosen to be the Dragon’s research assistant.”

“Everyone did. I only applied so we could go through the process together.”

“Oh, but I would never have been the scientist you’ll be—that you are now!”

“The Dragon—Sarkan—says I don’t think like a scientist at all.”

“That’s because you’re intuitive, and that’s why you’ve already made such a great discovery! My point is I was never interested in plants or chemistry. I only studied them because the research assistant job seemed like the easiest way out of the valley. It was freeing to be able to really devote myself to shooting. And then I won another way out of the valley. But I didn’t think it would happen so soon.”

I grasped her hand. “I’ll finish my internship in another six months—and then I’ll come to the university in Kralia! Will you be here?”

“Maybe. Prince Marek wants me to stay. But the princess has invited me to compete at Gidna, and maybe tutor Marisha.”

Gidna. It was so far away, up north. But it might be better than trying to curry favor with Prince Marek, who was turning out to be more malicious than the mischievous bad boy the tabloids painted him as.

”Either way, you’ll have lots of practice standing at ceremonies.”

“I’ve never stood for so long in my life!”

“I’m sure you looked lovely while you stood though.” She was dressed in dusty rose velvet today. “Are you going to wear this to dinner?”

Kasia shook her head. “Prince Marek had a whole wardrobe sent to my room. You?”

“I’ll have to go buy something else again,” I groaned.

“Surely Lord Dragonski isn’t making you buy the clothes yourself?”

“No, he gave me his credit card. But Kasia the store is so intimidating! They kept bringing me dresses and I was so flustered I just pointed at one.”

“I’ll go with you this time. I could lend you one of mine, but—“

I merely nodded. I was inches taller than Kasia. The clothes would never fit.

* * *

Vanastalem did have clothes other than harlequin-colored silks. Under Kasia’s calm instructions, they brought out a series of velvets in muted woodland colors. I loved an evergreen-colored crushed velvet shift with a cowl neck—sleeveless, but the great hall was hardly chilly. The only problem with the dress was:

“The train! You know I’ll trip over it or get it caught in a doorway, Kasia!”

But we instructed the tailor to shorten it—no longer than ankle length we insisted, despite the scandalized looks we got. They finally demurred and said it would be ready to pick up an hour before dinner.

When I came back it had been hemmed to ankle length—in the back. The front was looped up almost to my knees, so it still preserved the asymmetrical cut. I adamantly refused to wear heels, so they finally presented me with some suede boots that laced up to my knees. I was almost out the door when the shop-woman ran up, calling, “Ma’am!” three times before I realized she was referring to me. “The neckline, ma’am. It’s meant to be worn like this.” And she shifted the folds of the collar so they came off of my shoulders. Well. It didn’t feel uncomfortable, really, and Kasia said it looked well as she helped me sweep up my hair—a valiant but futile effort. I could already feel loose curls coming down as we hurried into the dining room just as the hors d’oeurves were being served.

* * *

“Late again,” I admonished as Agnieszka slipped into her seat. 

“Well, the shop only finished making adjustments an hour beforehand.” 

“An hour is more than an adequate amount of time to dress,” I said, looking up. I stared. Agnieszka looked . . . presentable. The green dress was bright, but not garish. Her hair was already coming down, of course, but in an artful way. It almost seemed deliberate, the way a stray curl curved down to graze her shoulder. Her bare shoulder. 

I cleared my throat. “You’re presentable at least. For the moment.” 

“It’s an artfully disheveled look. You look like you’ve just tumbled out of bed. Don’t you agree, Sarkan?” 

I decided to ignore Solya. 

Ragostok had acquired a coquette. She simpered over him beautifully, and from the way she flaunted her necklace, I assume it was a gift. Anyone would be able to tell it was Ragostok’s work of course—it was flashy and ornately detailed, but it had a cohesive elegance to it nonetheless. 

The subjects of gifts bothered me. It was practically duty to present a gift to the king, and political suicide to not present gifts to the princes, but I didn’t make a practice of giving gifts otherwise. Nor did people make a habit of granting me gifts, except for research grants. Agnieszka’s herbarium was useful. I already knew most of the plants of course, but the local venacular often eluded me, and her own discoveries showed there was sometimes a basis for folklore. More than that, it was . . . charming in its own way, written in her spindly handwriting, plants and illustrations and annotations splayed out in no systematic way from entry to entry, but in a way that seemed organic. Even the order of the plants was organized by ecosystem rather than alphabetically or by genus. 

And what to get for her in return? A smock which she badly needed but would never use? A hairnet to keep away stray curls? Most girls her age would no doubt love a jeweled contraption, but Agnieszka was not most girls. She certainly enjoyed food, exclaiming with delight when she placed a spoonful of rosemary and cranberry glacee in her mouth. She made short work of it, and proceeded to lick her spoon. 

“Take the rest of mine, then, if you like it so much,” I said, pushing it over to her before she proceeded to lick her glass too. Unfortunately Solya noticed this exchange and grinned at me. I was lucky Ballo was pontificating about preservation techniques for old books and so Solya couldn’t start expounding on my gentlemanliness or some nonsense. 

There was dancing later, of course. I was about to leave when Solya remonstrated me for not showing my guest the courtesy of a dance. “Take the example of our gracious prince,” he said. 

I turned and saw that Marek was sweeping Agnieszka’s friend Kasia about. Disturbing. Nevertheless, when I went to offer Agnieszka my hand, Solya was already saying, “Nevermind, my dear. I’ll accompany you,” and sweeping her off himself. 

Solya was in white, as usual, while Marek was in a traditional black tuxedo. Kasia was in crimson while Agnieszka was in green. Looking at the quadruplets twirling, it almost seemed coordinated. 

“What is Marek planning with Kasia?” 

“The other valley girl?” Alosha asked. “Who knows. Nothing good. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he’s trying to set up some sort of fairy tale romance.” 

“I wouldn’t put it past him. And Solya would allow it. It’s the sort of thing tabloids love.” 

“Yes, you’re right. He’ll do anything to get an edge. The Princess has asked her to coach Marisha though. She’s talented enough, I admit, though sharpshooting is different from actual combat.” 

“It would be good if she had an alternative, if she wants it.” 

Alosha raised her eyebrows. “And what of your own valley girl? Are you letting Solya smile at her so that she can have an alternative?” 

“What exactly could Solya offer her? And why?” 

Alosha shrugged. “That serum the two of you developed is sure to win the Charonikov Prize again. If Solya thinks she’s the key to your success, then perhaps he’d like to steal her. He could arrange for her to study at the university starting this year, or even enter the Charonikov itself.” 

“I’ve already recommended her for the list. Besides which, what does botany have to do with psychology?” 

“Didn’t you say you were experimenting with micro-dosing psychotropics?” 

“Not anymore.” 

“Perhaps Solya would like to experiment himself.” 

I drank more than I should have that night.

* * *

It was quite late when we returned to our room. I thought at first that Sarkan was cross at me for dancing for so long—he was unusually silent and stiff even for him—but once we got back to the room I realized that he was drunk. 

“So what? Isn’t that expected at parties such as these? Drunkenness?” 

“I didn’t expect it of you.” 

“Oh? What do you expect of me?” 

Suddenly he seemed too close, peering at me with that intensity of focus that drunks sometimes had. Then he moved past me, untying his bowtie as he made his way to the bathroom. He didn’t even close the door as he proceeded to strip off his vest and shirt and splash water on himself. 

I turned around and sat at the vanity to undo my hair, but I could still see him in the mirror, toweling off his hair and torso. It figured that he would be toned. He rose at dawn every morning to do yoga and go jogging. He seemed languid now that he wasn’t in public, and a bit disoriented. He put on his nightshirt and robe before pausing and unlacing his shoes. Then he started on his pants. I rushed into the bathroom, then froze. I couldn’t reach the zipper on the back of my dress. A whole bevy of shop-women had helped me get into it. I had torn my way out of last night’s dress, but I actually liked this one. I told myself I was being silly and matched out. 

“I need help with my dress.” 

Sarkan looked me up and down. “It looks fine. It looks good.” 

“I need help getting out of it.” 

“Ah.” 

After a moment, I turned around. Sarkan lifted a hand slowly and swept my hair out of the way. His hand felt hot but I shivered. Sarkan wasn’t moving right. His movements were always direct and efficient—sharply so. Now he was . . . lingering. I could feel his breath on my neck as he unzipped my dress, a long line that went past my waist, which he held onto with his other hand, to steady himself or the dress. 

“Thank you,” I said, and rushed back into the bathroom to change.

* * *

That night I had an odd dream. Agnieszka asked me to help her undress, which was real enough, but instead of needing help with the zipper on her dress, she needed help with her boots. She propped one foot on a bench between us and I unzipped the boot, but instead of putting my hand on the boot to help lever it off of her leg, I started stroking her exposed thigh instead. Agnieszka moaned, much like she had when she tasted that glacee, throwing her head back and exposing more of her neck. I traced a finger up her jawline, down the side of her neck to her shoulder, across her collarbone. Suddenly the collar of the dress did what it had seemed to be on the verge of doing all that night, and dipped lower, lower, off her torso completely, to reveal her breasts. 

“Sarkan,” she whispered, as I cradled them in my hands, leaned down to kiss her in between them. I left a line of kisses down to her navel, down to her mound. I swirled my tongue around her clitoris and she grasped my head and screamed. 

We tumbled over and Agnieszka straddled me, grinding against me enthusiastically. She was dressed again, and we were in my library. It was just like that time she had brewed mushroom tea. Her movements became increasingly frantic and frustrated, so I moved my hand in between us, pushing the heel of my palm hard against her so she slowed her movements. I unzipped her jeans and slid my hand inside, thumb brushing against her clitoris. She huffed and scrabbled for the buttons on my own jeans. But this time, instead of recoiling when she brushed her fingers against my erection—idiot, what had she expected after she had been rutting against me?—she traced its shape, grasped it, and squeezed. 

And that’s when Agnieszka fell out of her bed.

* * *

I couldn’t sleep. The settee-coffee table bed wasn’t actually uncomfortable. It was padded with a thick comforter and was wide enough. I had had no trouble the previous night. Tonight though I kept feeling Sarkan’s fingers tracing my neck, the pressure of his hand at my waist. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” I told myself. He hadn’t even asked me to dance. He had just drunk glass after glass of wine and gotten himself drunk so that he went about shirtless. 

“But you’ve seen that before, haven’t you?” said my voice of reason, which of course sounded like Kasia. Not that Kasia knew. I hadn’t talked about that time with anyone. 

We had gone mushroom hunting, but only for poisonous ones, or the ones that made you hallucinate. When we got back to the lab, he had wanted to boil them and extract their hallucinogenic properties, but I told him I knew of a method of brewing them into a tea that was supposed to be potent as well. He let me, observing that steaming the mushrooms like espresso probably did increase the concentration of the extract. 

I spilled some, of course, just a splash, and merely licked my hand clean. Sarkan had hissed at me about putting things from the lab into my mouth, but I had protested that I knew what was in the liquid, and I had taken mushrooms before—every teenager in the valley had. 

“Besides which, it was just a little. Don’t you want to try? How can you study micro-dosing if you don’t know what it’s like?” 

“You use controlled, randomized subjects,” he had muttered, but he had taken a drop anyway. 

It turned out the dose had been very strong indeed. We ended up in the library, staring at the books and talking about which ones were friendly. After awhile, Sarkan seemed to realize just how high he was and yelled at me about it, but my only response was to giggle at him. That’s when he did it. “You’re impossible,” he had said, and then done the impossible. He had grasped my face and kissed me. 

It was a long, deep kiss. I ran my hands through his hair—perpetually in need of a haircut, the leather jacket he had worn out in the woods which I had envied as burrs tore at my own windbreaker. I unzipped it and shoved it off of him. He undid my hair and ran his fingers through it, ran his fingers down my neck and down the front of my collar, unbuttoning my blouse and stroking my side. 

I had tugged off his shirt and run my hands up and down the hard planes of his chest and abs. It was unfair, I had thought, that some scientist whose favorite activities were poring over books and doing titrations in a lab could have a chest like that. I was in his lap at that point, grinding against him. There was an obvious bulge, and I was wet, but we were both wearing jeans. Then he had unzipped mine and slipped his hand inside and stroked me with his thumb. What if I hadn’t, out of instinct or terror, undone his pants and shied away from his erection. What if I had simple let him circle my clit with his thumb and use his other fingers to move aside my underwear and feel my wetness, push his fingers inside and curl them. What if I had pressed harder against him, when my own fingers had found him straining against his boxers? What if I had slid them down so I could have seen it? What if he had pushed me back and positioned himself between my legs? 

At that point, I rolled over and fell between the settee and the coffee table.


End file.
